How does one begin a fragmented lingering story? I am unborn. Mother’s gaze pierces the dark skies as she stands at the window. I hear her heart’s pulsation. A mujahid has been martyred. Rain clouds gather. A funeral procession passes us—Ro
Around 10 pm on a humid May evening in 1997, I was sitting in my study room on the first floor of a two-storey home in the outskirts of Srinagar, about ten kilometers south of Lal Chowk and the city
The public meeting at JNU on 9 February that launched a thousand doctored videos was held to commemorate the executions of Afzal Guru and Maqbool Butt. Could you begin by talking about why these two cases are still open wounds
Same old story As I write this, almost two months have passed since the events of 9–10 February, when Kashmiri and non-Kashmiri women and men, mostly students, incensed the polluted Delhi air with the most fragrant slogans of azadi. The
Kashmir is again on the edge. The ground reality is marked by unease and frustration. For over 25 years, the place is confronting a conflict that has emanated from continuous denial of resolving the political dispute. As New Delhi refuses
Could you begin by talking about how Dopehri came into being? Was this your first attempt at writing fiction? No. I had written something before this as well. It’s a funny incident, frankly. If you want, you can write it;
What are the stakes for Kashmir’s border communities in the ongoing struggle for azadi from India? Those who question Kashmir’s right to self-determination invariably fall back on its diverse ethnic and religious minorities to reject Kashmiri aspirations for azadi. The
Kashmir remains a blind spot for the Indian Left. Class, inequality, and Hindutva are topics the Left are happy to discuss, but when it comes to Kashmir, a curious mix of Islamophobia, amnesia and pure neglect has come to define
Translator’s Introduction Kashmir played an important part in Krishan Chander’s fiction; he initially spent a lot of time in Poonch owing to his father’s employment there and used to return to Kashmir whenever the opportunity afforded itself. His first
“From another year, another day, I remember when we had a waer[1]—when electricity was cut off for the night, so it was very quiet. We were sitting together having dinner. Suddenly, there arose a shrill cry that seemed to emerge from the